Incubus
by Getsuga TENSHOU 15
Summary: Orihime is a maiden, living under her Aunt's command at her manor. There has been word of a series of murders in Japan, of a evil creature slaughtering noble women. Orihime comes into contact with this creature, and soon grows a strange attachment to this abnormal man. RATED M: For scenes of a sexual nature, gore, and violence.
1. Chapter 1

The year was a bloody and merciless year, as a storm-cloud spread fear and anguish across the land of Japan. Viruses descended from the deepest pits of Hell, as God merely watched, judging his prisoners in their earthly cages. Those who were rich tried desperately to hold on to what little strength they had, judging the inferior creatures, the dust at their feet, taking every possession they had for granted, as they let the malice of wealth guide their paths, like a desolate candle through a dark alley.

Those who were poor barely lived. Barely breathed. Barely existed. All they had was a daily glimpse of the life they could have, if only the right blood pulsed through their puny veins. If only the right heritage pumped their hearts. To the poor, the rich held content, purified lives, whilst they, the urchins of their motherland, remained on the cold, desolate streets, with not a word or breath escaping their frozen lips. They dared not speak out. They dared not show their presence on the unruly soil beneath their bare feet.

It was times like this that Lady Orihime Inoue blazed a beacon of hope to the poorer generations, in her achievements of the power she gained. The once lowly, brittle child descended from the darkness, clutching hold of the thinnest thread held out in front of her. She didn't hold back. She didn't hesitate or show fear. She merely climbed, her cold hands grasping her escape with great pleasure; the thread slit deep into her hands, wounding, burning, and scarring her. She merely held her head high, escaping the pits of the underworld. The lowly, brittle child was now a rich woman, in fine feather. She had once been the daughter of Miko Obutsu, the filth of the land, the prostitute roaming the streets, with her soiled clothes, and her fan clutched in her hand, her slick hair plastered back into a simply commiserable attempt of feigning her imaginary wealth.

Her father, Hitoshi Obutsu, was anything but what his name implied. _Hitoshi_ described his nature as even-tempered, well-mannered, a man of his motherland; albeit, it was a common fact amongst the citizens of Karakura that this man was a menial fraud, intoxicated with drunken memories, his conscience slurred as he lashed out at anyone who came close to him. Whether it be his own flesh and blood, he simply didn't care. Hitoshi Obutsu's name simply blared out his reputation: he was a thief, a murderer, an inebriant; a simple criminal, wasting away in the world, drowning himself and others around him in the alcohol he consumed, each drop representing an ocean of his poisonous influence.

Her brother was the lone star burning through her darkened life, the lone flame giving her warmth, and the means to survive another futile day. His name was Sora Obutsu, the only father figure in her life, even to this day. Whenever their mother was absent, _"working",_ or their father finding a new toy to shred apart with his fists, this man cherished for her, ensuring she gained her daily nutrition, placing her needs miles before his. The selflessness of his soul instantly lit up the room, his sacrifices making her achievements possible. Orihime gulped, as she felt the guilt rise in her throat, as she reminisced the day of his death, the demise no soul as flawless as his should ever have had the curse of experiencing.

Orihime lay upright in her bed, her white cotton gown clad with sweat, as her breathing became harsh. Her nightmares had once again consumed her dreams, a bloody battle hosted within her mind, the two consciences fighting for victory of dominance. The candle placed at her bedside flickered amber light through the luxuriant room; her sleeping chambers was in the shape of a box, with long, thin walls, a low ceiling, with a chandelier hosted in the centre. A burning fireplace was placed opposite her bed, the logs in-tact, yet not burning. The cinders and ashes flickered softly, settling through the air, as she noticed her French doors left ajar. A cold breeze penetrated the air, as shivers hit her spine with a sharp blow. Something seemed off. A strange presence stabbed the atmosphere, shattering the serene environment, blasting shards echoing throughout the room.

She pouted, crossing her arms over her unusually ample chest, the fabric of her sleeping gown stretching uncomfortably, as she shook her head, eliminating any traces of paranoia from her mind. She pushed the silken covers back, revealing her smooth legs, as she turned her body partially, twisting her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping her feet into the slippers located on the rug. A sly smile swept across her lips, as her hands clutched on to the lantern, sliding the French doors shut, before scanning the room. Once satisfied, she crept over to her large mahogany door, careful not to stand on any floorboards in her path. Her hands hesitated, as her moist palms clutched on to the brass door knob, turning it, and creaking the door open. She scanned the corridor before her, hoping her Aunt was fast asleep, and that no servants were roaming the house at the ungodly hour.

Her gaze fell upon a Grandfather clock ticking almost silently in a corner, reading the time displayed. The time was eleven, not too late at night, but she hoped it would be late enough. Her plan was simple. She would lurk in the shadows of the enlarged corridor, and navigate herself towards her cherished environment: her secret personal library. Her hands held on tightly to the lantern in her hold, as she began stalking the walls, her eyes scanning the darkness skilfully. Her library was her home. Her brother had taught her how to read as a child, and ever since, reading had become her passion. She adored the mythical creatures, dancing and exploring, engaging on unthinkable adventures. She became enchanted by the dreams that filled her mind after reading the witty novels, certain that her nightmares would soon fade away under the influence of her favourite stories. Her dream in life was to become a writer someday, and become a strong, independent, educated woman, sharing her stories and life happenings to the world. But of course, these were mere aspirations. Her Aunt would never allow her to leave her household without first marrying into a respectable family. She would never allow her to chase such an unfeminine life.

Orihime scowled at her Aunt's prejudiced views. It was _her_ life, so surely it would be _her_ decision. Her body froze, as she snapped out of her trance, realizing she was stood outside of the library already. The intricate door contained vined designs, varnished over, giving a shimmering glossy effect under the reflection of the lantern's flame. The amber glaze gleamed softly in her gray tinted iris, the sense of defiance transpiring from the heart of her soul. The demonic eyes traced her movements, as he stalked the maiden, obscuring his figure in the darkness. She felt shivers trace the back of her neck, as her auburn hair brushed aside, a freak wind blowing softly as she opened the library door. She forcefully swallowed her fears, gulping as she slid inside her haven, sliding the door shut, locking the demon in the corridor, a grin plastered across his ashen face.

She held her lantern in one hand, her other hand picking up the skirt of her gown daintily, as she stepped over the floorboards stealthily. She heard a distorted laugh echo throughout the room, as her body pivoted, her breaths becoming shallow as her hand shook, scanning her surroundings with the beamed path of the lantern. She kicked herself mentally, as she peered over, finding an open window in the far end of the library, continuing her expedition towards her favourite book section. She turned around a corner, muffling her screams with her hand, as she walked into a figure positioned in her path. She edged backwards, her eyes wild with panic. She lifted the lantern, revealing her Aunt's bitter expression, as she ducked her head, ashamed.

"Inoue, just what do you think you are doing out of bed?" Her Aunt stood clad in her crimson dress, the skirt and sleeves puffed out, with a lantern of her own in her hand. Her hair stood tamed up into a fierce bun, her copper coloured hair blazing as it clashed with her porcelain skin beauty. Her stern eyes remained narrowed, the hazel tint darkened under the current environment, the flaring lantern giving her face an unearthly glow. Orihime shied away from the woman ablaze, as she held her gaze on the carpeted ground, muttering her answer under her breath.

"Oba-san… I'm terribly sorry, I was having nightmares." The woman glowered at her young niece's insolence, scolding her with her harsh demeanour.

"Now, does that explain your vacancy from your chambers?"

"No, Oba-san. I wanted to read something to help me sleep."

"Return to your chambers, *Kodomo; this instant." Orihime nodded glumly, her body turning of its own will, as she mindlessly dawdled back to her room, shivering at the glacial ambience shrouding her with a turmoil nature, slamming her door shut, depositing the lantern to her cabinet. She spat a curse under her breath, muttering profanity towards her mercenary of a _guardian_. She retired, allowing her body to collapse against the bed, removing her footwear in the process. She lay, squinting her focus at the low magnolia-tinted ceiling. She bit her lip softly; her mind became lost in thought, hoping her distraction would limit the nightmares to haunt her for the rest of the night. Her eyes flickered shut, as she hoped to drift away into a state of reverie.

Her ersatz surroundings became briskly demolished, as her serene thoughts fractured under the abnormal pressure shrouding her. She sensed a presence of evil, malevolence lacing the air, as her heart stalled, floorboards creaking outside her door. Her anxious whimpers resound, as she held back her breathing, hoping the presence would leave. Her hand clasped hold of her lantern, holding it high, to improve her eyes still adjusting to the darkness. A figure shifted, as Orihime swallowed her gasps, her eyes locked on to a sound of husky breathing resonating from within her room. The same laughing as before resounded throughout the room, her breath becoming trapped in her throat, as a granite hold grasped tightly around her neck.

The creature came into view, as her eyes squinted, certain she was dreaming again from what she saw. He had the body of a man, albeit unearthly muscular. His hair was built of the finest flames, blazing a liquid orange, as the heat overwhelmed her body. His lifeless skin gleamed a shade of ivory, his slitted eyes demonic and distorted in colour. His sclera flickered black, burning like a thousand onyx shades, dull and glazed with a maniacal aura. The berserk creature grinned psychotically, as his stone hand tightened its grip around her neck, listening intently for the blunt, sharp snapping of the frail bones. His lunatic nature chilled her to her heart, her lashes fanned out, casting shadows over her cheeks, as she blushed, snapping her eyes shut as she prayed for salvation. Pain coursed through her veins in a coarse manner, the mercilessness in his eyes striking as he panted, perplexed as to why her demise was delayed.

She began to feel her body become weightless, sinking into the cold embrace of the harsh, Arctic seas, her nerves rupturing under the frozen nature crushing her into a state of defeat. Her speechless lips parted, her breathless lungs begging for Oxygen to flow through her veins. Her silent whispers entered his mind, as he groaned, tearing his hand away with frustration. Orihime convulsed under his pressure, studying the assailant before her. The slick strands of hair fell down over his shoulders, cascading as it reached the small of his back. The environment around him clashed a mix of fire and ice, both elements unaffected by the other's presence. The ice did not melt from the fire, nor did the fire cool from the ice. Orihime lay upright, her mind disorientated from the events.

"Am I dreaming?" Her hoarse voice whispered, as her silver eyes traced his pacing movements. His eyes flashed over to hers, emitting a thousand emotions, constructed of pure hatred and venom, all in a single look. His black lips became thin, as his grin plastered over his face, his expressions screaming a soundless _No_.

"I must be dreaming… I am not going mad, I feel it… Am I in Hell?" She gained the same response, a simple thought transmitted into her head, screaming _No_. "Shiro-san…" Her sobs filled the room, her confusion leaking from her very soul. "You were trying to kill me." The voice in her head changed his answer for the first time, as the word _Yes_ echoed throughout her mind. "Why?" The creature before her merely scoffed at her naïve question, turning his back, his hand clenched into an odd shape. Orihime's brows creased together, as she opened her mouth to question his actions. Within seconds, she received her answer, swallowing her screams as she saw her door open, her Aunt stepping in.

"Kodomo, I ordered you to sl-" Her voice became strained and feeble, as the demon's hand pierced her torso, leaving a hollow hole adorned with fresh, scarlet blood, as he retracted his hand from his impalement. Orihime's screams became lodged in her throat, as her aghast gaze watched her Aunt sink to the floor, her blood the same shade as her crusted locks. Her gaze averted to the demon, her face wild with fear, her lips trembling at the sight. The demon merely smirked, taking his blood-soaked hand, smearing a trail of crimson liquid across his face, applying the blood across his cheeks as a soldier might his camouflaged mask. His lips became stained in the liquid, as her gaze couldn't leave his for a moment. He flitted towards her, his blood-stained hand pushing her back against the bed with a harsh nudge.

For the first time in that commiserable night, he spoke words untranslatable by the young maiden.

"Nemuru… ima." Her eyes grew wide, as she felt her heart slowly stop, her body overwhelming with a numb feeling. The last vision she had on the world was the sight of the demon's malicious smirk chanting an inaudible curse, sending her into a deep state of bliss.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I originally wrote this as an original, non-Bleach related novel, but you know recycling is good, guys. Enjoy. This should clear a few things up from the first chapter.

He hovered in the air, flapping his celluloid wings through the brisk, dark night, slicing the slick atmosphere around him, with an unruly ambience veiling his being to the core. His malice penetrated the air, rupturing all so-called righteousness shrouding the air of the villages, as his resilient strength splintered the spines of the weaker hearts, the nuzzling youth of the mortal race perishing upon a mere glimpse of his soul-slaughtering glare. The chaos, the anarchy, dispersing throughout the damned realm earned vividly sadistic smirk to spring from his callous nature.

The bulk of the heavens pouring over the empire in the form of liquid strident bullets coated the slick strands of flames protruding from his indestructible skull, neither element altered by the other; the rain did not extinguish the flames, nor did the blaze set the downpour alight, but rested in congruence with its counterpart. The elements swathing him always bent to his will, shadowing his every action with pronounced inclination. The horns emerging from his skull acted as a stream-line, as he soared through the atmosphere, gliding with a distinguished trait of grace, as he took honour in his distorted image, his satanic features, gratified with the demonic visage.

His hollow eyes were slim and slitted, his sclera flickering a sinful shade of jet black onyx, the thin irises burning with a deep shade of amber, trimmed with a liquid gold lining; his waxen skin flared beneath the lunar rays, as the cavernous moon drifted in the background, the paranormal ambience lingering in the dense air. The storm blustered throughout the vines ablaze, as he became lost in a deep thought, closing his distorted eyes against the gale, concentrating on the reiatsu of _her_. The masquerade covered his profile, concealing his bloodlust behind the mask of peril.

It was a well-known rumour amongst the citizens of Japan that a serial killer stalked the streets, just as it was as equally a rumour how it slaughtered the wealthy women, the women with _well-earned_, upstanding positions in society. Oh, but if the feeble mortals only knew the element of truth behind these _rumours_. Perhaps they'd serve themselves well as the _human race_, if they considered all of the possibilities behind these conspiracy theories. Granted, pursuing the richer women did arouse a somewhat worthwhile aspiration, but the fledging, wandering, desperate little hearts of the poorer generations, doomed to their fruitless demise, hunting these creatures came across as something of an amenable nature.

To watch the lower creatures whine and scurry, their blithe spirits perish under their adamant obliteration, to track them to infinity, watching their futile forms of escape fail under the sheer anguish, misery, despair shadowing their hearts, brought out the carnal instincts of any hollowfied soul. The sense of mayhem, the disarray of their wretched lives crushed under the reiatsu puncturing the air, the bloodshed and anarchy simply enticed such demons into a magnetized reverie of slaughter.

In response to the rumours, the theories, there was no such organization or single man committing these _crimes_. It was merely demons stalking the empire, slitting any mortal in their way of feasting. They couldn't speak, bar the slumber chant they utter, drawing the victim into a coma-like state. They held no reason to speak, or to communicate at that. Despite this, they could input thoughts and imaged into any creature's minds, living or dead. They didn't believe in wasting time with formalities. Whoever they killed, they killed. Names especially didn't count for this incubus. Whoever he devoured became a part of his soul, as he drained the life from them with a simple kiss, diverting the soul to his opaque wings. The rigid cage imprisoning the souls flickered, coming to a stop as he landed against the manor.

He landed on all fours, stalking the wall as he climbed, his tough nails digging into the bricks compiling together the building. A musky smell rose through the air, the earthy scent of the soil and plants shadowing the atmosphere, emerging from the gardens behind him. The aroma of something worthier aroused from the balcony above him, his hands gripped on tight to the concrete guard-rail, as he vaulted over the balustrade. His feet landed with a sharp collision, the manor trembling under the force of his bulk, as though an earthquake sent judders across the field. His eyes narrowed behind his hollow mask, constructed of rock-solid bone shaped in the form of an inhuman skull.

He peered through the French doors located before him, dissolving his body into a physique built of obsidian stained plasma, darker than a thousand shadows compacted into one. The slim curtains billowed as he stepped through, his body now malleable as he passed through the solid mahogany and glass of the barricade. His body rippled back to normal, as he drifted in the air, his wings flitting as he lingered closer to the body convulsing on the bed, with sharp shivers.

A smirk crossed his face, as his presence extinguished the fire upon will, letting the ash flickers hover in the air, slowly falling like lifeless feathers. His gaze averted towards the woman sprawled across the futon, her broad lashed remaining shut in her unconscious state, fanning out and casting shadows over her stained cheeks. Her brow became furrowed, creasing together as she breathed softly, her bare chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of her gown; her pulsing neck amplified the alluring rhythm of her heartbeat, the sound of her streaming blood inches below the flesh pulsating with delicate motions.

_How should I kill you, little one?_

The dimly-lit room did wonders for her beauty, forcing Mother Nature to weep with envy upon sight of the naïve maiden; the flickering candles forced an unearthly golden glow to beam across her ashen skin, as her parted lips murmured incoherent words through slick breathless pants. The auburn cascades of hair that fell across her shoulders curled into soft ringlets, as the flames around her projected a soft halo effect, glistening rays of light around her; he swore he could hear angels curse unheavenly profanities, despising the woman's perfection.

He flitted over to her body stealthily, placing two fingers over her neck, relishing in the pulse augmented under his touch. The slick black claws extended from his nails wished to trace the contours of her flesh, to leave trails of the crimson beauty he loved to consume, as he held back his demonic thoughts. He didn't wish to slaughter this one. The ambience shrouding her seemed different from the others. This human had a reiatsu. A small itching part of his discarded conscience knew this one should be kept by his side. He knew he had to preserve her, to protect her, for something in the near-distant future.

He closed his eyes, blowing out a sigh as his thoughts became clouded with the harmonious beat of her shallow breaths. The hollow demon within taunted him, the distorted voice echoing with its psychotic laughs. He shrugged the voice, drawing his blade mentally, slashing the creature to oblivion. This was his mission. His woman. Nothing would come between him and his vision.

His wings creased behind him, built up of scattered fragments of souls he'd devoured, each invisible feather constructed of a million spirits. He turned his gaze, narrowing his eyes, glaring deep into the wild eyes watching him with fear. He snapped a phrase in his mind, beckoning the lucid ghosts to return to their sealed state.

He was a demon at heart, an incubus, born and bred on the battlefield, slaughter and bloodshed built the foundations of his mind. He could kill a nemesis in a split second of setting his charcoal gaze upon the unfortunate soul, his sclera flickering a deep violent shade as his eyes fixated on rupturing their vital organs. He could impale a man built of muscle with his blade like claws. He could freeze an ocean from the opposite corner of the world from his mere proximity, or set the world ablaze in a flash of flickering flames whenever he pleased to.

So how was it that he stood, the merciless, bloodthirsty beast, beating his celluloid wings, his desolate eyes fixed on this mere human... And allowed her to live? How was it that he, who could shatter a child's skull with a simple growl from his throat, splattering their crimson blood, as he smeared his lips, adorning his bloody war paint across his bone-white cheeks, could stand in awe of this maiden, and dare not claim her soul?

He knew the answers to all of his questions. Answers so simple, he kicked himself for not triggering the thought train sooner. Why devour her soul, and congregate it with the others, the others who disgusted him to the very pit of his stomach for their dishonourable demises, when he could claim her soul, and imprison it in an isolated confinement? Why group her under the same specifications as the souls he couldn't give a damn for? Why soil her purity, and trap her with the lesser filth of the Underworld? Why group her with the others he spat at, the dust at his feet, when he knew this woman belonged elsewhere? She belonged in his cold, unbeating heart. And that was exactly where he'd store her, shielded from the outside world. He'd steal her soul, and fuse it with his, so that no other creature could ever lay eyes on her for the rest of his existence.

But as he knew that the theft of her soul came at a price. Where the beauty of her soul would become fused with his, the beauty of her body would either remain on Earth, the brittle, empty shell attracting men of all sorts, or would perish, and rot in the deepest pit of the Underworld. The Underworld would disintegrate the grace running through her veins, the natural nobility shrouding the air she breathed. He sensed her mind stirring, rousing as she lifted her body, scanning the room. He concealed his pressure in time, dispersing the particles of his body into the darkness. He adjourned his breaths, not that he had a heart requiring functioning lungs, his eyes still monitoring the maiden before him.

He could see the movements of her throat, swallowing her fears as she became lost in thought. Her robes were stitched with sweat, her breaths becoming all the more hollow by the second. Her pulsating heart echoed throughout the room, her face washed over with what he defined to be terror, as though she was half-expecting something to jump out of the shadows at any second. He smirked, obscured by the darkness, his shallow thoughts filling her mind.

_You want to read, don't you?_

He watched her sulk, her face forming a scowl as she closed her arms around her torso, drawing her legs up, embracing her hefty breasts, curious as to what she was thinking. He could place thoughts in her mind, but reading her own thoughts was a completely different matter. He could only guess. She drew the covers back, rising from her bed, taking the lamp into her hand. The candle still flickered inside the metal prison, as he decided not to frighten her just yet. She closed the French doors, scanning the room, unaware of her body passing through his, gaining a sudden gust of both flames and ice shrouding her body.

He permitted her to leave the room, as she came to the ornate door, guiding her on to the main corridor. She hesitated, as he stalked behind her, his lips brushing her neck, triggering a chain reaction of passion to flow through her. The hairs on her neck stood on ends, as though she was expecting to spontaneously combust right there and then on the spot. His hands traced her curves, stroking her skin as his plasma form skimmed through the cotton fabric of her sleeping gown. His nails combusted her fear, as he grazed her flesh with a quick slit, tormenting her from his veiled structure.

He smirked; his eyes watched her clammy palm turn the door knob, stepping ahead as she broke the contact of his sequestrated touch. He closed his eyes, listening to her reiatsu flare through the corridor, the golden plasma emerging from her body clearly unknown to her acknowledgement, her naked eyes not flinching once from the spiritual pressure congregating above her. She sleuthed the shadows, stalking the decorative walls as she examined the hallway laid out before her. He followed soon after, taunting her as he circled her body, his eyes locking on to her silver glazed orbs. Her face became alight with the flame flickering before her, her feverence drawing him into a fascinated charm. The lively, feisty nature of this maiden allured him, instantly knowing at that moment that she would be the type to put up a fight. She would be the type to induce a defence of some sort, making her imminent assassination all the more pleasurable on his part.

He watched he come to a halt in front of the library doors, as she paused; he blew softly down her spine, distorting her mind as she deceived her thoughts, causing her to believe a breeze swept from the library upon entering. He kissed her neck once more, feeling her body shiver under his touch, blowing a slight breeze through the room. His claws brushed her neck, relishing in the gulping movement of her throat. She sealed the door, as though hoping he would leave her alone; forsake her; a slight chortle left his smirked grin, as his psychotic laugh resounded throughout the room, his body melting into the room as he stepped through the locked door.

He watched her body pivot, shaking at the invisible presence lurking in the shadows. The light passed through him, as his body dispersed yet again, scattering the plasma through the concealment provided by the darkness.

_Nice try, damsel._

He watched her turn, ignoring the open window, colliding with a figure within the labyrinth of bookcases. Her screams resounded through the air, becoming muffled as he wrapped vined darkness around her waist. She crushed her soul, smirking at her idiocy, as she gazed at the figure inexistent before her. He created the illusion of her Aunt, triggering words to sound in her stern voice as they echoed through his mind. He created the artifice with such precision, the only step unpredictable being the logic section of her mind. What would a _woman_ be doing out of bed at this time of night, in a _library_ at that?

"Inoue, just what do you think you are doing out of bed?"

"Oba-san… I'm terribly sorry, I was having nightmares."

"Now, does that explain your vacancy from your chambers?"

"No, Oba-san. I wanted to read something to help me sleep."

"Return to your chambers, Kodomo; this instant."

_Perfect…_

Where other demons may scorn him for the time-wasting of his assassination, he relished in the thought of luring his victims into a sense of well-being; to allow them to think everything must be alright, if someone I love is walking about unharmed. To bring their hopes up of another minute of breathing, only to shatter their lived in a split second of his grasp.

He watched her nod morosely at the illusion, her mind accepting her punishment, her disheartened body walking to her death in an almighty trance. He hovered over her, clashing his body within his, watching her shiver from his icy reiatsu exuding from his callous nature, his cold, unbeating heart shattering her conscious to shards oblivion. Her tempest spirit took over, as she slammed the door shut with an immense thump. He counted the seconds, timing his actions with the rhythmic beat of the pulsating clock located in the corner behind him.

As the new minute aroused, he began his taunts, raising his reiatsu to a supreme level. He could hear her pulse spiking, her whimpers filling the air as the air grew heavier, as he sucked in the Oxygen, leaving the room practically empty from air. He vaulted to the ground, pounding the floorboards as he landed with a sharp slam, diffusing his figure through the mantled door, watching the woman fall into a state of panic, holding on tight to the lantern in moist palms. His raspy breaths reverberated, as he built the pressure of her trepidation, savouring the sound of her heartbeat intensifying. He dispersed the shards of his body, fusing his body into one, as he surfaced from the nightfall, no longer obscured or masking his visage from her naked eye. His signature laugh resounded throughout the room; the signal to his victims, warning them that they had seconds left to live.

He flitted towards her, the force of the collision typically enough to crush a mortal. She flinched, but did not succumb to his clutch of death. His mask materialized, the satanic skull inflicting terror deep into her pleading eyes; the flamed pillars rippling from his scalp singed her skin, as the smell of burnt flesh rose through the air, billowing with an enticing scent. His skin glinted ivory under the flickering candle in her grasp, minute in comparison to the heat exuding from his hair, as the cascades burnt like a comet falling through the desolate night sky. The demonic gaze, distorted and bitter, the bloodlust scorching the night set ablaze. Her struggling declined, forming frustration in his mind, as his expectations became hindranced under her reactions. His grin spread wide, his resolve determined to slaughter her one way or another. He watched her lashes fan out, causing dark vines to enclose her porcelain face; he panted, his method beginning to turn futile, as the strength of a thousand earthquakes did nothing to urge on her demise.

The vines coiled around her limbs, lifting her body from the mattress as she became weightless. His relentless nature succumbed to the despair surging through him, as he surrendered his acts, returning the Oxygen to the air. He tore his hand away, studying his nails, pondering as to why the claws with the same momentum as a freshly sharped katana couldn't penetrate her feeble flesh. He shifted his gaze away, noting her arise from the corner of his eye.

"Am I dreaming?"

_No_.

"I must be dreaming… I am not going mad, I feel it… Am I in Hell?"

_No_.

"Shiro-san… You were trying to kill me.

_Yes_.

"Why?"

He turned towards the door, closing his eyes as he sensed footsteps walking towards them. He formed his hand, extending the nails towards the door, the stern reiatsu flaring from her austere heart. The woman clad in crimson forced open the door, the rigorous expression soon fading into a mask of sorrow, the lamentation of her soul leaking, as she became impaled, his arm skewering torso to his elbow. He retracted his hand, smirking at the hollow hole left in place, the scarlet blood clashing with the pale nature of her skin. The blood lingering on the back of his hand brought out an enlightened side to his nature. The irony of her penchant for crimson, the same colour as the liquid that once pulsed through her veins, arising within him, as he studied the lifeless body, adorning his lips and cheeks as though it was war paint.

He could sense her bewildered gaze attempting to shatter through his skull, as he pivoted on his heels, flitting towards her with his hand outstretched. For a split second, she believed she would die in the same way as her Aunt. He grinned at her fear, her flinching state, as he shoved her against the bed, nudging her down into an inexorable grasp. He studied her expression, her masked fear overwhelmed with a numb sensation.

"Nemuru… ima," He whispered his chant in a hoarse voice, his stone tight throat vibrating, reflecting his animalistic nature. He watched her drift off into an unconscious state, certain she believed it was death. He scoffed at her naivety.

_How puerile… Your death will be much more painful than this… Kodomo…_


End file.
